Curiosity Treats
by quarterthought
Summary: I'm pretty bad at summaries, and this is my first story on here, so... maybe just reading it would be nice? :
1. Prologue

George Weasley was talking animatedly about the Skiving Snackboxes, his hands flying like bludgers on a windy Thursday. A glint of mischievous smirks here and there, a touch of humor in his eyes when nothing was actually particularly funny.

Fred Weasley, the better half of the identicals (or so he believes), slurped his pudding as he listened. Apparently everyone was oblivious to his surprising lack of interest on the matter at the moment.

"I'm just saying that the snackboxes might sell a little more if they were pocket-sized!" George rambled.

"Then they wouldn't be called 'snackboxes' now, would they?" Lee Jordan, a useful apprentice of the gingers, sighed in dismay. "They would be called the Skiving Pocket-sized Boxes, and does that sound witty? No! I don't think so."

"Fred, what do you think?" George was exasperated.

"I side with justice." Fred lifted another spoonful to his lips. His eyes transfixed on motionless objects (which was seemingly hard to do seeing as everything had a mind of it's own at Hogwarts).

"That would mean my side, wouldn't it? Seeing as I've been sharing your opinion on justice since our days in the womb." A slow grin crept up George's face.

But Fred wasn't listening anymore. A pint of pudding dripped down his robe as a certain young lady spun her head in his direction.

He winked.

Her eyes crinkled in mock excitement.

Then she turned back.

And he looked back down at his pudding. But out of sheer curiousity, he glanced at her through his peripheral vision (a trick mastered throughout the years).

An arm wrapped around her shoulders and caressed the chaos of her hair. Another flame of ginger burried his head into her ear and she laughed. She was sitting across the hall but he heard her just fine. Her laughter was like autumn and cheesecake. Delightful even when you aren't there to experience it firsthand.

And he looked back down. The heat of the world rushing through his veins at startling velocity.

Fred Weasley's pudding was gone. His eyebrows furrowed in slight amazement and partial distress.

Lee Jordan grinned ear to ear. "Funny how you lose certain things when you aren't looking, eh?"

Fred stared at him for quite a while, and soon he chuckled, shaking his own flame of ginger. If only they knew how much he knew. If only she knew as well. 


	2. Morning In The Burrow

(my dears, i'm sorry for not updating. school's been hectic. but now that it's summer...hi hi. thank you for stumbling by this piece of unattractive literature, by the way. i love you all.)

A few months back~

6 o'clock in the morning would've been quite a lovely hour of the day if the equally lovely Weasley twins didn't spend the entire night composing genres of explosion. Fred Weasley, drowsy and unattentive, lay on the grass with his eyes completely shut. George Weasley, equally drowsy and unattentive, sat with his arms behind him grasping the blades for support. Both red heads took time to enjoy the feel of the morning breeze against their pale freckled skin. A few seconds of gentleness to balance their chaotic preferences.

"I reckon it will take another 20 minutes, eh? Let's head on back and take a quick nap," George mumbled, his eyes half open.

"No, no. They're here," Fred mumbled, despite having his eyes closed. "I can hear Ron walking. Git walks awfully loud."

"Ah." George's eyelids fully opened for the first time that day and straightened. Fred followed in the same gingerly manner, swatting blades of grass off his pant leg.

Ron Weasley, quite the gentleman, held three enourmous bags in both hands, whilst trying to walk with an effortless expression. Despite his attempts, his cheeks crept up in crimson. Beside him awkwardly walked Hermione Granger who seemed to be aware of the weight of her uncharmed luggage.

"Ron, I could help you with those, they are mine after all," Hermione reached out to the nearest bag.

"Oh no, this is nothing. You just watch your steps, some gnomes are out on the loose again," Ron huffed, grinning to her side.

Unconvinced and indignant, the petite lady of an astounding mental capacity and determination beyond her years snatched the smallest pouch.

"Mione-"

"I needed it after all, I had to get my cellphone to contact my parents." She explained nonchalantly.

"Cellphone? Is that what you call those muggle inventions that spin your laundry and bubble up with powdered soap..."

"No, Ron. Cellphone, cellular phone. A muggle device used to contact people with the use of wireless signal and- oh!" Her vibrant red muggle device flew out of her hands and soared through mid air.

Fred Weasley grinned ear to ear, caged in his long fingers was Hermione's cellphone. Hermione stared at him, a deadly expression crossed her pink face.

"Looking for this, love? Quite interesting aren't they? Muggles, I mean? You have to hand it to them, electronics is quite complicated. I believe this term you refer to, "signal", I think? Almost acts as an invisible force available within a certain range and allows connection. Muggle magic, I call it."

"Fred Weasley, please return my rightfully owned belonging," Hermione stomped towards him. The bundles of chaos attached to her head frizzled in the cold. Ron stumbled behind her, attempting to say something but ended up knocking down a few other bags.

Fred Weasley tossed his new object of affection to George Weasley, who caught it just as enthusiastically.

"Give us time to inspect, love. Dad's never gotten a hold of something as keen as this. Mum usually forbids him to do so."

"Well your mum wouldn't like to hear both of you in possession of an unrightfully owned object snatched from your visitor," Hermione stood still, her eyes fixed towards the area that lay beyond the twins.

Their eyes widened in late realization.

"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY," The shrillest of voices emerged from the backs of their heads. Simultaneously, both gingers twitched. Fred gave a low sigh and George took this as a sign to toss back the vibrant little muggle device.

"Thank you," she smiled, not meeting their eyes and catching the cellphone. An air of triumph surrounding her, she marched back to a busy Ron.

"TREATING VISITORS IN DISRESPECT AGAIN, ALL FOR A BLASTED MUGGLE DEVICE. AS IF YOUR FATHER'S DAILY SURPRISES AREN'T ENOUGH. USING MAGIC JUST BECAUSE YOU TURNED OF AGE RECENTLY. YOUR ROOM IS A TERRIBLE MESS-"

"Now hold on, mum. Why bring up our room? Why couldn't you save that sermon and not combine it with the recent scolding. In our defense, our room is battlefield art-"

"NOW YOU LISTEN HERE, FRED WEASLEY. I WANT NO MESS. NO CHAOS. NO EXPLOSIONS THE ENTIRE TIME HERMIONE STAYS HERE. MARCH OFF AND EMPTY YOUR ROOM."

"EMPTY?" Both of them shot up in surprise, towering over ther mother. Their startling height in comparison to the stout Mrs. Weasley only further defined the sudden changes that occured the past month. Their vibrant ginger hair framed their faces in perfect length. Their skinny postures started to take its turn to masculinity. They held themselves with an air of confidence and new held maturity(or at least when needed). In turn, more female heads started to turn their way when their daily strolls in Diagon Alley took place.

Slightly oblivious to all this, the twins prioritized the new direction of their joke shop(a topic that has yet to be discussed in the Weasley residence) and assumed that the increase of interested women in their life was a cause of their usual charm.

"Yes, dears. We're magically turning your room into a two storey compartment, hurry and temporarily hide the arrangement of your room. We're reorganizing." Mrs. Weasley explained, her tone calming down.

"But what about Ginny's room?" George spat, his eyes clouding in desperation.

"Ginny will be with Aunt Olive. And since your room is the biggest, the two storey compartment will work the best with yours. What's with the fuss, nothing much will change, dears. You'll just be having an extra neighbor, but sweet Hermione isn't anything to worry about. So go now, and empty!"

An incredulous look passed both the indenticals, notches formed in the middle of their throats. Rearranging their room! What a thought!

"GO!" The bellow was the final push. There was no getting out, both of them pondered on miserably. Fred and George Weasley calculated the many schemes able to dismiss this one, but alas, ended up with none.

"Not budging again! I guess I'll have to do this one myself-"

"NO!"

"OH, MUM! YOU SAINT!"

"How could we possibly allow you to tire yourself at this age?" Both twins rushed inside, their insides jolting. If mum were to find their many experiments... oh they'd be decaying corpses for sure.

Fred and George Weasley stood in an empty room, silence ringing so loud in their ears. The old scent of wood sent the rush of childhood memories galloping in those mischievous minds of theirs.

"Well, it does look pretty big in comparison to Ginny's," George stated glumly.

"I hope mum doesn't resize it to half the size. Such a stuffy space won't contain me," George continued, sighing.

Fred was about to comment on this but refrained as he heard a small creak from the doorstep area.

At first all he could see was a bundle of brown haystacks, later realizing they lead to a face. They wouldn't admit it, or realize it, even, but the dear Hermione Granger grew up as well. She no longer walked with her head bowed in the middle of the corrigdors, no longer spent 99% of the time in the library. The percentage ran down to 65% now. She had a bright face and an aura of determination around her. The knowledge she carried balanced with her level of maturity. Her bright eyes shone, and her cheekbones started to portrude.

Maybe it was this sudden realization or maybe it was just the alarming fact that she stood in their room that kept the twins quiet as she walked in.

"I would like to talk to you both," She said, looking them both in the eye. Her expression indifferent.

"Well, you could've knocked, maybe," Fred eyed her, half of him blaming her visit on his current dilemma

Hermione Granger cleared her throat, her fingers slowly interwining with the hems of her skirt. "I wouldn't like to consume much of your precious time so now that I stand here, just to get the point, no introductions or anything to stall, I would just like to say-"

"Hurry, love. I'm as wrinkled as dear ol' Dumbledore," George teased.

"If you don't want me as near as I will soon be once this room is rearranged, you might as well tell me," She finished.

Maybe it was the feeling of being unwanted that made Hermione fumble. Sure she's been branded an unlikely friend for her remarkable intelligence and hissed at during classroom discussions for her astounding recitation. She was independent, she carried that well. But this was different. If she was simply a bother outside the area of academics at such a point, she would like to know.

Fred's face softened. George raised his eyebrows.

Fred started chuckling, it was uncontrollable despite his efforts to keep them subtle. He looked her in the eye and found her confusion in the matter. His lips curled into a smile.

"It isn't that, my dear Granger. We simply have a lot of possesions to take care of that we would dislike to be mingled with or rearranged. You are free to lurk near our abode provided that you don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions. That was the first rule.

"Secondly, no disturbances," George joined in.

No disturbances. That was the second rule.

"Specifically what possessions are you refering to, Mister Fred Weasley? I, for one, would like to know the types of substances that lie a few meters before me."

"Not quite hazardous, honestly. And you just broke the first rule," George quipped.

"Your definitions of "hazardous" is alarmingly different from the accepted universal definition, I believe," Hermione cocked an eyebrow.

"Ah love, trust us and try not to care," Fred subtlely pushed her towards the door entrance.

Trust us and try not to care. That was the third rule.

"If my death stands an arms length away from me, Fred, I think it would be rational to care," She went on, but she stepped out of their room anyway.

Slowly, he approached her and closed the space between. She stood in front of him, her eyes still indifferent, the logic of her side clouding her aura. It was one of those many things about Hermione that you couldn't miss. She was, after all, very logical.

"You are quite a bother. If that answers the question you came here to ask," ending their conversation, in a wittingly annoying banter, Fred Weasley closed the door. And it was his plastered smirk that was the last thing she saw before she stood completely alone.

Sliding her tender hands down the banister as she trotted down the staircase, Hermione Granger couldn't decide on whether she felt satisfied or not. Dismissing her thoughts with a slight shake of the head, she hurried down to a tired Ron Weasley. 


	3. A Gingerly Feast

(in case people were wondering, the setting takes place in the 5th book. ah, many twisted events. but this is fanfiction, so i don't think it was necessary to add that. but anyway! a review or two would be nice. :D make me a happy camper)

Dinner at The Burrow was a splendid feast. The presence of Hermione, Lupin and Tonks sent delight radiating through the Weasleys' freckled skins, the abundance of red hair in the residence seemed to be more vividly prominent, if that were possible. Hermione stopped to subtlely observe the giddiness of her companions. Despite herself, she chuckled at the sight of it all.

Beside her, Ginny Weasley laughed histerically at the constantly deforming face of Nymphadora Tonks. She was now a very pinched looking old woman with her eyes as thin as slits and her lips a particle away from being invisible. Hermione choked on her drink and laughed along.

"Well aren't you having a wonderful time, dear," Tonks smiled, her alarmingly thin lips curling up into a tiny horse shoe shaped grin.

"Yes, yes I am," Hermione breathed as she gulped down another butterbeer.

Her eyes strayed away and found herself looking at Ron who at the precise same moment met her eye, he smiled a little and she gave a small one back. He glanced awkwardly at a vacant stool and she knew he was thinking the same worries she silently tried to avoid.

Harry must be furious.

All the guilt she hastilly tried to bottle down came rushing right up in startling momentum. He'd hate us terribly for having such a good time without him and not offering any news at all, she thought. Oh, she felt deeply saddened. Surely, he'd understand. Although with his reputation to be stubborn at times and rash, also adding up to the fact that he's spending another dreadful summer at the Dursleys', Hermione twinged in doubt. Hesitantly, she looked back at Ron who was no longer looking at her but instead, was very much absorbed with Lupin's tales.

"Looking melancholy, love?" A quiet voice whispered in her ear. Fred Weasley sat down beside her, a trinket in his hand.

"I was just thinking," Hermione replied, her voice small as she tried not to meet his gaze.

"Don't we all think? I would like to believe that I don't make such a face when I do, however."

Hermione looked at Fred thoughtfully, and for the first time that day, realized how drowsy he did look. He had a lame smile on his face and his eyelids met half way, but in the midst of it all, he eyed everything with such keen delight and enthusiasm. She smiled despite herself.

"You're tired," she pointed out, straightforwardly.

"Is that what you do with your spare time? Scrutinize people's faces and determine whether or not they need rest? Uncanny habit, i must say," He looked over his shoulder and found George curled up on a sofa, his mouth hanging wide open.

In this exact split second, Hermione took this time to watch Fred's eyes light up in mocking delight. "Git," he mumbled softly.

"I know you're staring at me," He chuckled, looking forward to meet her gaze.

"I find it quite fascinating, the both of you."

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows, "No surprise there, I suppose. We are quite fascinating beings."

"You are peculilarly bright men, terribly mischevous and such, successful when it comes to business, dreadfully annoying conversationalists, smart enough to attain more than 3 O. each yet you spend 90% of your study time creating massive useless objects. Despite all this, you emmit the air of conquering the world together." It was fast, and she felt quite light headed in the process, but they were words itching from the back of her throat. She had to let out her ponders.

"That's exactly that, isn't it? The world isn't cornered by academics, is it? Living is happiness in a hundred bottles. You have to experience life everywhere," he was staring at her thoughtfully now, seriously now, and she couldn't remember the last time he has ever looked at her like that. "Why say all this now, Granger? I may be tired, but I am surely not drunk. I'd remember all these sweet words of yours in the morning."

She didn't know either. And there were very few things in the world that Hermione Granger didn't know.

"I would like to understand you, but for now I'm heading to bed," she faked a convincing yawn and stretched her arms, which have actually been numb the entire night.

"Good night, Fred," she smiled lazily, sitting up and patting his shoulder.

The night was still young, adolescents and adults alike still kept the level of delight in the Burrow as more butterbeer glasses started to empty. As she stood at the foot of the staircase, Hermione listened to the laughs and clink of glassware. A slow smile crept up her face, and with that, she tiptoed her way upstairs to leave unnoticed.

Except of course, she wasn't. From the corner of his eye he watched her make her way. It alarmed him how he felt the need to keep her some company, as well as how well it mingled well with his sleep deprivation dilemma.

Shaking his flame of ginger, he dismissed every thought as George trotted about beside him.

"What was that about?" He eyed him drowsily.

"What was what about?" The innocence clouding his face. But he was Fred Weasley, and he was talking to George Weasley. If the world were a flobberworm, everything would change except for the fact that there is nothing Fred Weasley can hide from George Weasley.

"Correct me if i'm wrong, but i think i saw a little something there, mate," It was the unmistakable smirk of George, quite identical to his own, but of course he found his a tad more handome.

"Well, then I am correcting you, for you are wrong," He faced his twin, mocking the same smirk pasted on his face.

George was going to make a comeback for this in two miliseconds flat, but was, alas, disturbed by their annoying little git of a brother.

"Fred," Ron mumbled slightly, "George."

The two older flames of vivid red turned towards his direction, the same set of identical curiosity crossed their faces. "What's up, bro?" They chorused.

"I-I have to ask you a little something."

(oh, it gets better. i promise you, it does. i'm going to have a fun time writing the next two chapters, or at least i think so. reviewing would be delightful :D) 


	4. Little Games

Hermione Jean Granger sat at the foot of the stairs, her hands clasping the cold metal rails. She couldn't pin point exactly whether the emotion required was awkwardness or curiosity to be quite alone in the twins' room. It was quite clean, surprisingly. Her hands found their way down her silk nightgown as she gingerly swatted dust particles off her. On her lap she delicately handled a hardbound book, one that she suspected might give her a head's start for this year's O.. Slumber didn't seem much a choice now that there was too much to occupy her mind.

Fred Weasley and all his drowsily reckless glory walked up to his familiar doorstep, beside him stood George Weasley whose eyes were completely closed despite his moving body. Incredulous, Fred Weasley snorted and turned the doorknob.

She stood there at the foot of their temporary staircase, and despite the fact that she was aware of him glancing at her, he proceded to stare. Maybe it was her high messy ponytail with spare strands sticking out in such a chaotic manner that struck him as charming, or maybe it was that silky nightgown that flowed off her body quite well, softening the curves and complimenting her rosy skin. Or maybe it was how unsurprising a book nestled on her lap that brought himself to notice the little things.

Bloody hell.

How absurd was he today? All the butterbeer starting to wreck his nerves a little, he reckons. Must be the slight subconscious yearning for a woman to hold. Oh, now that sounds very uncharacteristic, now the words "yearn" and "woman" will forever strike him as that odd phase of his adolescent life.

"My eyes are closed but I sense your disturbance," George mumbled softly, one eyelid opening in slight amusement.

"There's an odd smell in our room," Fred said, not meeting Hermione's eyes. He wasn't lying, not completely, there certainly was that aroma of fresh roses and vanilla in the room. He didn't exactly indicate whether or not he liked it. But even so, he wrinkled his nose.

"It-it must be me," Hermione stood up, slightly flushed, "I shouldn't have put out my mother's-"

"Odd, meaning, unfamiliar, not unpleasant," Fred did meet her eyes this time, he threw her one of his familiar smirks and proceeded to raid his closet.

"Sleepy, love? Better head on upstairs." George yawned.

"Actually, you seem a lot more slumber-deprived than I am." Her eyes flickered to George's dark circles under his eyes.

"You're going to sit by the stairs all night until we fall asleep, is that it? Sing a lullabye, I suppose." George threw himself lazily on his bed, his eyes still shut, yet his face conveyed his familiar "i'm-silently-having-an-inside-joke-with-myself" little grin.

"Have cookies with us, love," Fred said nonchalantly.

Hermione eyed him in curiosity. Fred was indeed holding a platter of warm baked cookies. She proceeded to show him no response of admiration.

"If you're wondering, our room possesses many wonders, child," George mumbled, eyes still shut. Fred and Hermione simultaneously threw him a look. If the git were as drowsy as he proclaimed, he might as well stop talking.

Hermione reached out reluctantly to get a piece of warm chocolate delight.

"Nope, we're playing a game." Fred swatted her hand away.

"But you offered-"

"You looked reluctant. How can I offer only the kings and queens of cookies to one who is reluctant? If you really crave as you proclaim, you undergo the obstacles."

A smile was playing on his pale lips and Hermione unsurprisingly felt the strong urge to punch him.

"What game?" She asked, slightly tired and incredulous to her actions.

"One that unlocks your door, apparantly. You come out of it once and the second time you try to enter, it seeks a password." Fred munched on a cookie messily. Almost instantly, his mischievous eyes lit up in anticipation as all signs of his slight drowsiness passed in light speed.

Hermione scanned his face quickly, attempting to target any signs of humor, idiocy and deceit. Concluding that she would spot these signs on a daily basis, she turned her head and marched upstairs, her feet heavily trodding the ground.

"Wake up all the neighbors, eh?" George's irritated voice rose from below.

Hermione ignored him and stared at her door. A small carved dragon settled smack in the middle, one that she hasn't seen before. One would be unwise to question Hermione Granger's memory. This dragon was new. Holding her breath, she slowly turned the doorknob.

"PASSWORD, LITTLE GIRL WHO REFUSES TO READ INSTRUCTIONS AND INSISTS ON WAKING UP POOR INNOCENT CREATURES TAPED ON HER DOOR. PASSWORD OR THE RAGE OF MYSTICAL FIRE WILL UNLOCK THE-"

"Oh bloody hell!" Hermione gasped and tripped on her own feet, resulting to another heavy thud. George groaned once again, covering his head with a pillow in frustration.

"All who doubt me suffer a trip or two," Fred, who had guessed the circumstance despite not watching the scene, shrugged his shoulders.

"SINCE WHEN WAS THERE A BLOODY PASSWO-"

"Mum and dad set it up, it was to keep us out but you disappeared before Ginny could hand to you the note. Must've misplaced it, little Ginny," Fred tried to lower his tone to indicate sympathy and innocence, although it was as clear as daylight on his face that a simple misplacement by the youngest Weasley was too far a reason.

"Hand it over, Fred." Thunders arose as she marched down. She was bloody well pissed now, any act of slight admiration she held for them a moment ago flashed away like the blinking of lights. He may look dashing now, she thought miserably, but once a mindless, deceitful git, always a mindless deceitful git. She was never one too patient for their little tricks.

It must've been a sudden change of anger-clouded expression for Fred's face seemed to flicker in second thought. "If you're as clever as you think you are, you'd be up in no time. It's a simple game really, you can ask me any question and i'll reply with a yes or no."

She sat down now, exasperated. Putting her pride and dignity at risk, she looked him in the eye.

"Is this related to magic?"

"No, surprisingly. Well it could, if you wanted it to be."

Hermione gave this a second for thought.

"It's muggle-related then?"

"Not exclusively, but it can."

"Is this edible?"

Fred paused. "If one were dying of hunger, perhaps."

She threw him a look and he winked. "Not a lie slips my lips, Granger."

"You said you'd reply with merely a yes or a no."

"I always was a rule breaker."

Rolling her eyes and finding no comeback for this, she proceeded. "Do I see this everyday?"

"I would like to think so."

"It's essential for daily life then?"

"It bloody well should."

"Books." She quipped.

"That answer only applies to a very small demographic, try again." He said, as if he expected this answer.

"Knowledge?"

"Yes, because you can certainly eat knowledge if you were dying of hunger."

"You could've meant it metaphorically!"

"I could've meant every answer metaphorically and this game would end nowhere and you'd have to proceed to sleep here which would be unsuitable for the three of us."

"Does it come in many sizes?" She tried.

"Yes."

"I can hold the biggest size with my hands?"

"This is assuming there aren't any new sizes, for you really never know what muggles come up with these days"

Hermione released a short breath in annoyance. "It's essential to daily life, not edible, and quite portable or so I assume. Is it a kind of clothing?"

"Last I checked, no."

"Shoes?"

"That is quite racist of you, for there may be parts of other countries not introduced to the concept of feet protection."

"Racism refers to discrimination of-" She started.

"New question, Granger."

Hermione paused. "Is this usually found in the living room?"

"No." He smiled.

"Dining room?"

"Unless you prefer it to be there, I suppose."

She shot him a look. "Bedroom?"

He grinned idiotically, "Depending on the circumstances, I suppose. But usually, no."

"Bathroom, then?" She sighed desperately.

Fred paused for a while. "Yes."

"Oh!" She put her hands up in the air and collapsed on his bed as she smiled slightly despite herself. "Well that certainly narrows things down."

Fred watched her curiously as she rocked herself on his bed in tiresome glory. "Well are you going to end this game, or-"

"SOAP!" She exclaimed quite loudly.

"GOOD LORD." George sat up, completelely exasperated, his face clouded with unmistakable annoyance. He threw a pillow at Hermione ruthlessly. She merely caught it, smiling.

"I'm sorry, George. I'm going to bed now." She whispered.

"Hang on, I didn't say that was correct." Fred cocked an eyebrow.

Her face fell, and despite himself, Fred's eyes crinkled in mocking delight. "Ugh, shampoo, then? Unless this is specific, I've always prefered lemon-scented shampoo, next to this would probably be strawberry-"

"Yes love, shampoo. Now go to bed. You've wasted a precious hour of my supposedly slumber-filled night." He yawned.

"The brilliant password that kept me up was SHAMPOO?" She shook her head, incredulous. Not waiting for a remark in response, she sat up.

Hermione sprinted to the banisters, taking two steps at a time as she did so. One last step before finally reaching the top, she shot Fred a very Hermione-ish look. "Also, don't you dare accuse me of depriving you of sweet slumber, you dragged me to this game. And why 'shampoo?'"

"You know dad, fascinated with many things. And you gotta hand it to him and mum, we never would've guessed it as a password. Well, good night." He gingerly waved his hand, as if dismissing her.

With a slight scowl, she muttered. "Well, good night."

As Hermione Granger disappeared into the chamber upstairs, Fred Weasley sprinted himself and recklessly searched his drawer for a notepad.

_Lemon-scented shampo_o, he lightly wrote.

**Lame title, sorry. Well, not as good as I planned, this chapter was quite random. I'm sorry it took long. I've been going places this summer. But I promise to update more frequently! Also *shameless advertising* please do read my oneshots about George after Fred's death *choke*, and there's one Lily/James. I quite enjoyed writing them.**

**Reviews would seriously make my day and I would forever love you so :)**


	5. Between Brothers

**I'm sorry! Oh my goodness, I am a terrible terrible person. I hope ya'll haven't given up on me yet, I'm still going to update this, I promise!**

"You're terrible," It was a fiercest of the smallest whispers, but Fred heard her as clear as he would hear the ringing of school bells. As deliberately irritating as his reputation brands him, he cocked his smirk and met her dull eyes.

Hermione Granger stood, as tall as she could hold, an unsurprisingly thick book cradled between her stiff arms. Such a look crossing her face would rattle the bones of hippogriffs. The temper of a stubborn lady, was number one on the list of "things one shan't encounter at will". The messy dark strands of her mane stood out even more than naturally possible.

"Sleep well, love?" Fred Weasley asked innocently whilst stabbing his morning pudding messily.

Ron Weasley, still a lifeless bloke with a ginger mop to pass as his hair, stiffened, his eyes darting inquiringly towards his brother. Fred eyed him subtly with his peripheral vision as he did so, and shrugged indifferently.

"No, I did not have my ideal sweet slumber- or awakening, rather, when I woke up completely covered in cookie dough." Her breath was so sharp, even George had the shame to look slightly nervous (an incident only capable of Mrs. Weasley).

"Very freshly baked cookie dough, I might add-"

Hermione scowled at him haughtily, her face red and at its most agitated state. Ron and George shifted uncomfortably on their stools. She spun her heel with more emotion than intended; her disarrayed glory of brown strands flowing in the wind as she stomped noisily.

"Shame," Fred looked at his pudding, "I thought she would've liked breakfast."

"You..." Ron sputtered quietly, his freckles starting to contrast his pale tone, "... didn't sleep with her, did you?"

"_HEAVENS_!" Fred and George shouted simultaneously, the table creaking noisily as they shot up in complete and utter bafflement. George splattered a mouthful of pudding as he did so, resulting to a choking fit.

"What on THIS BLOODY WORLD, would make you think OF SUCH A THING?" Fred spat, very obviously disturbed. George eyed Ron incredulously, still bits of pudding running down his cheeks.

"You... covered her in cookie dough, asked her this morning if she had a nice sleep. And i did ask you for that certain... favor... a thought just nagged me that you might've gone quite far (for you usually do). I'm honestly glad that you haven't crossed that line, I would've killed you so..." Ron's color was coming back.

Fred sighed, eyeing his younger brother with such a pitiful and aggravated stare. "First of all," Fred cleared his throat, "No idea how cookie dough made you think of sex."

"-interesting idea, though" George mumbled quietly as Ron shot him a "that-comment-was-inappropriate" look.

"Secondly, you've made it clear last night that you fancy that piece of work. I've been denying our blood relation for half of my life, but I'm still your brother," He said genuinely, and Ron knew that although Fred himself was a piece of work, he wasn't one to break promises.

"And thirdly, she's Hermione Granger." This time, Fred looked him in the eye, a fervent expression written on his face.

"Also, ickle little Ronniekins, sex isn't casual," George looked up from his saved pudding, winking at Ron slyly.

"-we are NOT having this conversation!" Ron flushed, losing his appetite almost instantly. It was very much uncharted territory for the young one, but the twins felt the need to pass down their superior knowledge on the like.

"-the occasional snogging is acceptable, but anything beyond the... uh,well, slightly naked-"

"NO! This is uncomfortable, and we're talking about Hermione, and you know I don't th-"

"Please Ron, our rooms aren't exactly miles away-"

"-I just had to verify that you didn't create-"

"-create?" George looked up from his clean bowl for the second time, a playful smile on his lips. "Curious choice of words, Ronald-"

"You two may have trod down this very mature road, but I am perfectly comfortable-"

"I'll stop you there, little bro," Fred raised his hand, "I'll admit we're occasionally quite reckless, and our charm doesn't exactly drive the women away, but we have our morals-"

"Well, that's new." Ron snapped, "I'm surprised you aren't handing me a list of strategies-"

"It would be quite lengthy, and erotic literature isn't my forte as you kn-" George quipped.

"I'll rephrase, I haven't taken a casual stroll down that road, as I have my morals, Georgie, on the other hand-"

"WE ARE NOT HAVING THIS CONVERSATION." It was a roar, and the heavens and the Earth now have no doubt whatsoever of Ron's being in a House with lion-like qualities.

"YOU STARTED IT." The twins roared back in equal volume. Fred's mouth twitched in amusement.

"I'll say it again, however," Fred said, this time in a quiet tone, "the mere thought of Hermione Granger in my room rattles me. And George and I," his eyes darted towards his clone inquisitively, "would rather spin and woo a lady before wrapping them in linen sheets." George nodded, but Ron felt the humor playing in his eyes, spinning a slight doubt in him.

"Really, George?" Ron started, his eyebrows raised.

"I swear on my future multi-million galleon business." He winked as he magically refilled his glass.

Ron slumped on his seat, an exasperated look crossing his face for a split second, soon replaced by the slight hint of relief. His cheeks clouded crimson as he noticed that his brothers were still smirking at his downfallen state.

"What?" His tone was sharp.

"Nothing," Fred shrugged, a blank look on his face, "Ronald in love is certainly an interesting sight to see, mind if I become a regular visitor?"

"Yes, I do mind, actually." George wasn't sure, but he had the nagging feeling that Ron had gritted his teeth.

"The question was rhetorical, and regardless of your will, the checklist will resume as planned. Ickle Ronniekins, as the 25th rule of the Weasley Brotherhood states-" George choked silently as his twin went on, "it is time to undergo the pains of awkward conversations with your older brother, just as I, George, and possibly Percy have endured."

"You're making this up. I'm not even surprised, just let me go now, Fred," Ron pleaded. "Game over, alright? I'm fed up, terribly fed up. I'm going to crawl up to my room now if you don't mind."

"I do mind, sit down, Ronald Billius." Ron groaned as he felt the sensation of metal clamps on his freckled limbs. George twirled his spoon innocently with one hand, the other under the table.

"To put it simply, I advise you not to creep her out. It's possible that she's accustomed to your peculiarity and Weasley charm by now, given the past 4 years with her, but too much of it goes down a long way. Percy himself denied this first rule, and look where that's gotten him, a single, sniveling, mindless prat worthy of not even a two-legged creature."

Ron eyed Fred incredulously, unsurprisingly not for the first time, or for the second time, even. "You're comparing me to Percy. I am thoroughly offended, this draws the line, Fred."

"Secondly," Fred dismissed Ron's protests, "I guess when it comes down to everything, only bravery persists. You aren't exactly the brightest crayon in the box as compared to her neon yellow streak. I suggest that to fight for all of her is necessary. Also, probably throw her some compliments. And, remember that the woman is always right. Not in my case, but probably in yours."

Slowly, the sensation of cold metal cuffs slipped down Ron's body, and with a jerk more forceful than necessary, he jumped up from his wooden stool. "Nothing new, Fred." He snorted, "I would say that I'm thankful for this brotherly advice, but I am going to carry on with my own pace and... charm."

George snorted indignantly.

"It was only a reiteration of Charlie's old words. To be honest, I may have thrown a couple of insults rather than compliments to a few women. Endearingly so, however." Fred ran a hand through his bright hair, his eyes gleaming in fond memory. He looked over his shoulder, as Ron took his steps hastily away from the dining area. "You will take care of her, though."

Ron merely nodded, and the fervent expression on his younger brother's face was enough for Fred to place what little faith he had left in him.

As Ron's silhouette fled away from them, Fred suddenly realized that his twin hadn't spoken a word for the past 5 minutes. Quite a record, he admitted. He shifted uneasily on his feet as he spun to meet the identical yet unidentical face. Having the nerve to meet his eyes, he placed his questioning expression.

"Fred, how long have I known you?" George asked softly their eyes met. For the first time, Fred couldn't place exactly what he was seeing on George's face, whether it was amusement or warning, or something entirely different.

"All your life."

"All yours."

"You'd be the nutter to think that I don't know." George kept the expression.

Fred sighed, his insides churning slightly. The fact that George knew him better than himself would be endearing if not annoying at certain circumstances. "It's nothing, okay. It's nothing." He raised his hands. "I swear, George, it's nothing."

"You do repeat when you're unsure. You do know that, do you?"

Fred flashed a look of slight amusement and irritation. "I know, okay. I know."

"I know you know." And the other half turned his back, shuffling quietly away from the other, who wasn't quite sure if he knew what that meant.

**I'm sorry, i felt like i needed to toss some fun here and there. Review? :)**


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